


The Letter

by Miss_Peletier



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Missing Scene, Season 3, Semi-Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 11:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7358962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Peletier/pseuds/Miss_Peletier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately after the failed rebellion and Marcus’s departure, Abby wanders into his empty room and finds something unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Letter

          Abby Griffin didn’t know how she ended up in his room in the middle of the night.

          Well, she knew how she’d  _gotten_  there. She knew why. Abby needed him, and being in his quarters was the closest she could come to having him in her arms. After another altercation with Pike out of which she narrowly managed to escape unscathed, there was only one person she wanted to see. Unfortunately, that man was miles from her embrace. She had no way of knowing when, or if, they’d be able to hold each other again.

         “You and Marcus were close,” Pike said, glowering. “You know something about this, Abby. I  _know_  you do.”

          Her hands were balled into fists with enough strength to draw blood from beneath the skin of her palms, and she gritted her teeth to keep from screaming.

          “I don’t,” she hissed. “And even if I did, you don’t have evidence to prove it.”

          He glared daggers at her.

          “Abby -” he started, but she decided their conversation was finished. When she saw him she only saw Lincoln’s lifeless eyes, heard Marcus’s broken voice as he said he didn’t want her to get hurt, felt Sinclair’s despair as he faced death in a prison cell.

          “Don’t  _ever_  talk to me about him, Pike,” she hissed, as the rage boiling behind her eyes made his widen. “You have  _no_  right.”

           She turned on her heel and walked away.

           A few hours later, she realized she couldn’t be in her own quarters tonight. They were too empty, too quiet. She had too much time to think when she was in her room, her mind tended to run away from her, and she chased it back to a time that had already passed. Back to Lincoln’s final seconds, when she realized she couldn’t save him. Back to when she thought she couldn’t save Marcus. 

          So rather than wallowing in her guilt and grief, she gave herself something to do.

          She walked straight down the corridor, turned right, walked a few more feet, and found the door bathed in shadows at the end of the hallway. While her room had a small plaque displaying her name and title (in case someone needed her in the middle of the night, the Arkadians needed to know where Doctor Griffin was housed) there was no sign, no name, nothing to indicate it was his. But she knew. Even if she hadn’t been there before, she would have known.

         She realized suddenly that she shouldn’t have expected the door to be open: it would have been unlike Marcus, she reasoned, to leave his bedroom door ajar when a revolution was afoot and he was its leader. Yet, when she wrapped her fingers around the cool metal of the handle and pushed down, it yielded to her force rather than resisting. Without so much as a rusted squeak it swung open, and she stepped inside as quickly and quietly as she could.

        It was soon obvious why she’d been able to get in so easily: the room had been ransacked. His paintings lay haphazardly on the floor, his bedsheets had been overturned, his books had been removed from their shelves and thrown on the floor in piles. She nearly vomited as she imagined Pike standing in the center of it all, barking orders at his minions.  _He has no right to talk about him and no right to be here,_  she thought as she locked the door behind her and began putting his belongings back in their original places.

         She hung his paintings on the walls. She put his books back on his shelves. She folded his clothes and placed them back in their drawers, breathing in his scent off every thread and stitch. She made his bed and pulled his green comforter over his pillows, noting (not for the first time) how  _small_  his bed was.

          _We could make it work,_  she thought, sadness gnawing at her soul as she considered what could have been.  _We could make it work if we get the chance._

         Although it had been several hours since he left, she couldn’t stop her brain from replaying her final moments with him; more than that, she didn’t want it to. She longed for her mind to take her out into the middle of the ocean and drown her in every last memory she had of him, to plunge her deeply into every single recollection of his chocolate eyes and his silky, dark hair.

        In those last few minutes, one of her hands lay on his shoulder and the other held his arm. His right hand rested on her back, holding her to him, while his left softly stroked the side of her neck. She told him, her voice trembling, that she didn’t want to do this without him. That she needed him to stay out of danger. That she’d be here when he got back. He’d held her and whispered how he’d never stop fighting for her. For them. For Arkadia. They told each other firmly that they’d meet again.

        They would. She truly believed it. But that wasn’t enough to dispel her nervousness about his journey to Polis, or her fear that he’d be taken from her again, permanently, before it was safe for him to return.

        She couldn’t stop thinking about how tightly his arms had wrapped around her as her fingers dug into the back of his jacket, how she parted her lips against his, instantly opening up to him. He tasted sweet, like the hard candies they’d savored as children on the Ark, an ironic contrast to the sorrow and violence that swirled around them in that moment like a hurricane. But in that second, they weren’t swept up in the storm: they stood in the eye, trying to build an eternity out of the flimsy, feeble seconds that wasted away.

      He tasted like hope.

      And yet, after everything, some small mutinous part of her brain had broken down the walls of reality and projected him in his tiny chair next to the tarnished table in his small quarters. It was the only artifact that had remained untouched by Pike and his men. It was foolish, she knew, but she had almost expected to see him reading the book that was now positioned solidly in front of the empty seat. His head would snap up from his novel when he saw her standing in the doorway, and his smile would light up every corner of the room.

      He’d drop his book as rapidly as if it had burned him. Confused, he’d make his way toward her, asking her why she had come to see him so late and if everything was alright. She’d silently admire his toned physique underneath his gray shirt (if she had her way, he wouldn’t wear that jacket half as often as he did) and get distracted for a few seconds before answering, but he wouldn’t notice. He never noticed.

      She could picture it all so, so clearly. It was as real to her as the chair, the table, and the bed, but it was as fake as the brave mask she’d placed over her features as he left. She replaced her emotions with rods of steel and kept herself from breaking down for the second time that day as he disappeared from her view, crawling through the passageway that would drop him outside Arkadia’s walls. She only cried when she was alone, and then she let those steel rods melt.

      Her Marcus was here, sitting in his chair, lying on his bed, looking at the artwork that hung from his walls, and yet, impossibly, he wasn’t there at all. He was everywhere and nowhere, he was beside her and he was far, far, away.

     “Marcus,” she whispered to a man who couldn’t respond, a man who couldn’t hear her voice.

      Slowly, as if in a dream, she made her way over to the seat and sat down. The book was centered in front of the seat, as if he had placed it and positioned it. He probably had a reason, but it was one she couldn’t quite understand. Not that it would be unlike Marcus to want some order with his belongings, but…he had bigger issues on his mind, certainly, than this little book.

      Curious, she picked it up and flipped through the pages. A piece of lined paper fell out, fluttering to the ground. Abby bent over awkwardly in the chair to retrieve it, her muscles screaming from the strain of the motion against the exhaustion this day had wrought upon her.

      She recognized his precise, compact handwriting and her heartbeat soared. Hands shaking, she began to unfold it.

_Dear Abby,_

_First of all, please know I wanted to tell you about what I planned. I didn’t want to keep you in the dark about it, but I couldn’t live with myself if you were hurt. I decided I’d rather have you angry at me and alive than helping me and killed. If you’re reading this now, I don’t regret my decision._

_There are so many things I wanted to tell you, but I fear now that I won’t have the time, so I’ll write them here. I want to apologize to you. I’m sorry for so many things, Abby. I’m sorry for the role I played in Jake’s death. I’m sorry for shocklashing you. I’m sorry for all the awful things I did and said, for all the pain I caused you. If I could go back now and stop myself from committing those atrocities, I would._

_But I also want to thank you. You showed me what it means to be a true leader, and that sometimes, compassion can be stronger and more effective than any law. You regarded the Marcus Kane who stood on the Ark and condemned 300 people, the man who sneered at his own mother, and instead of blindly hating him when he made it to the ground you made him a better man. You forgave him. You’ll never know how grateful I am to you for teaching him that there is, indeed, always another way._

_There isn’t a good way to say this, and I’ve been trying to say it for months, but I’m afraid now that this letter might be my last chance. I thought about saying it when I came to see you in Medical the other day, when you kissed me on the cheek. I thought about saying it before then, when we stayed up at night to plan for supply runs and search parties, when you told me to go to bed and I smiled and told you the same. The timing was never right back then, and it might not be the right time now, but it’s the only time I have left._

_Abby Griffin, I love you._

_I don’t deserve your love, but I’m in love with you all the same. I don’t know if you’ll be shocked by this revelation. I don’t know if you feel the way I do. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, not even Callie, but I know what I’m feeling. After we got back from Mount Weather, when you were in pain, I never wanted to leave your side or let go of your hand. When you lost Clarke, I wanted to go out into the woods and find her myself. When the Chancellorship overwhelmed you, I wanted to hold you close and tell you you’re the best leader we’ve had._

_When you laughed in Polis, I don’t think I’d ever been happier. Every time I look at you, every time you smile or laugh, I light up inside. You’re the compass that points me home, you’re my hope when everything’s falling apart, and I’ve fallen desperately, completely in love with you. Please understand I needed you to know that, even if you don’t feel the same._

_I also realize that if you’ve found this, things didn’t go well with my plan and I’ve more than likely been executed for what I did. Don’t cry for me, Abby. My life was a sacrifice I was willing to give for the good of our people. I know they’ll see that Pike’s wrong for the office, and when they do you’ll be reinstated as Chancellor. I have every faith and confidence in you: certainly, if I was around, you’d have my vote._

_I didn’t want to leave you, but Pike hasn’t given me any other option. Our lives have been a series of choices that haven’t been ours to make, but in writing this letter I made one for myself. Just know that if you want me, a part of my soul will always remain here with you, guiding you from the stars in the night sky._

_May we meet again._

_Love,_

_Marcus Kane_

       Abby hadn’t realized she’d been crying, but by the time she finished reading the letter her tears had dampened the flimsy paper and smeared the ink. Overwhelmed, she dropped the letter to the table. It fluttered in midair for a few moments, then lay on the metal as solidly as the book had only moments before. Abby wiped her eyes and hid her face in her hands. 

       The thought of him sitting alone at this table, writing this letter and reflecting on his impending death sentence without anyone to comfort him, all before he knew how she felt…it was almost too much for her to bear. She was overwhelmed by an even stronger urge to hold him, to tell him she loved him too even though she was certain he already knew. After today, he had to: there was no way doubt could creep into his mind, as far as she was concerned.

        Even so, she wanted to say it to him again and again and again until it synchronized with the beat of his heart. She wanted to murmur it to him in the middle of the night, wanted to turn over in his arms and let her lips graze against his skin. She wanted to kiss it into him with the pressure of her mouth against his neck, wanted to scream it in the heat of the moment. 

       Most of all, she wanted to say it to him until she was certain he believed it.

_I love you, Marcus._

      For now, she settled for whispering it to his letter.

      “I love you, too,” she croaked against the lump in her throat, picking up his words and cradling them to her chest.

       She fell asleep in his bed, wearing one of his shirts and holding his letter in her hands as the night dried her tears.


End file.
